


these hearts

by kurgaya



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Aftercare, Drabble, Fluff, Light BDSM, M/M, and he's gloop, honestly all you have to do is play with baze's hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 16:32:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12303114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurgaya/pseuds/kurgaya
Summary: They’ve had years to perfect the giving and taking of love. It is only because of those years of practice that they share such an intimacy of knowing what they like, and what they don’t, and what always turns them on.





	these hearts

**Author's Note:**

> *waves hands* post sex fluff drabble?
> 
> cross-posted from tumblr
> 
>  **warnings:** light(ish) bdsm themes

“So easy to please,” Chirrut hums, twirling a finger through Baze’s hair. He'll knot it, he nearly always does, but Baze never complains - never notices, perhaps, given that his hair already falls about him in tangles and waves, thick and brambly and lightened by the sand of Jedha as it bakes the city. Chirrut doesn't mean to mistreat Baze’s hair so, but the curls lend themselves to twirling, and it is so easy to get lost in each and every sensation that is his beloved Baze Malbus.  


The compliment - for Baze will take it as such - earns Chirrut an exhausted mumble. Baze seems capable of little else at the moment, but each heavy, sleepy rise and fall of his chest beneath Chirrut’s cheek only deepens Chirrut’s satisfaction. Wearing his husband out is something Chirrut will never tire of - unlike Baze, who tires so beautifully - and he is helpless but to smile at Baze’s soft noises of pleasure as his hair is wound round and round.

“So easy to love,” Chirrut adds, feeling a little giddy. Baze isn't the only one who needs time to recover from a bout of their most private sport, and that's not because age is starting to creep up on them. They’ve had years to perfect the giving and taking of love. It is only because of those years of practice (of rights and wrongs and laughing well into hours) that they share such an intimacy of knowing what they like, and what they don’t, and what always turns them on.

“Ssh,” Baze replies, achieving some coherence. The drag of his arm up across Chirrut’s back and over his shoulder is an effortful one; he is boneless in the best of ways, muscle-less, even, a warm, pleased, gloopiness of who he used to be. The slap of his lips together - dry, his mouth tempered with fire - is less blissfully spent, but Baze squeezes his partner’s shoulder before Chirrut can think to rise. “S’kay. Stay.”

Chirrut needs no further prompting to return to his petting. Baze’s hair is thick and coarse, ever-dirtied by the sands of Jedha and baked dry in the low evening sun. His washes it infrequently, and himself just as so; the scarcity of water is only rising as the Imperial occupation lingers, but those are thoughts for another time. Sonic showers don’t quite share the delight of blistering hot water, and Baze’s hair only frizzes under the ultrasonic waves.

Still, he should be able to entice Baze into the sonic later - judging by the success of the evening.

“You only need to say should you desire a drink,” Chirrut says, pressing a smile into his husband’s chest. Baze is warm and his heart is pounding sluggishly, a slow and sleepy beat to match his yawning lungs.

“Mmhm,” says Baze, which is hardly an answer at all. “D’you need one?”

“No. Just you,” Chirrut assures; it’s not he who spent the evening panting open-mouthed pleasure. The thought of muffling himself -stars forbid, _gagging_ himself - rises unbidden, and not for the first time he lets it drift up and away from the clutches of desire. It would be selfish, although Baze would not agree, to indulge himself in that inkling of want when he denies the same want from Baze. Compromise is just one of many things they have learnt of love.

Even after years of marriage, Baze laughs in his flattered, self-deprecating way. Compliments bounce right off him; he is soft-skinned, soft- _hearted_ , and his smiles are liable to tear. And yet, his rumble is one of happiness: “You have me,” he says; _and still I wonder how it’s true_ , left unsaid.

“I _had_ you, I think you’ll find,” Chirrut corrects; he’s not teasing, it’s only the truth, after all. “I had you in almost every way I could think of.”

The bed creaks as Baze attempts to roll over; he creaks too, groaning with exhaustion as he turns to face Chirrut. One hairy leg swings up over Chirrut’s calves and he laughs - they both do - as Baze presses his mouth against Chirrut’s cheek, then his jaw, and down along his neck.

“If that was 'almost’, then I dread to hear the other mad ideas you have,” Baze says, not sounding particularly against the thought. He has only rarely been against Chirrut’s ideas - those that belong in the bedroom, at any least. Out in the city, in their youth, in the temple before it burned, Baze had objected to many of Chirrut’s schemes. He still does, huffing and puffing but following all the while, a gun at his side and a target on his back. He will wear the target gladly if it means protecting Chirrut - and Chirrut wishes so desperately that he wouldn’t. But Baze will always be Baze, just as the Force will always be the impartial, unquestionable Force of the world, and Chirrut loves him still.

“You like my ideas,” Chirrut drawls.

“Hmm. True. Except the biting.” Baze squeezes him in a hug to soften the blow - _no hard feelings_ , says the press of his chest against Chirrut’s, hot skin against skin, one man against his other - but still Chirrut’s smile falters. Vivid is the memory of that mishap, and Chirrut kisses Baze’s chin in apology, as though he has not apologised a hundred times before. They had been young and excitable and poorly-versed in communicating, and after kicking Chirrut halfway across their box-tiny room, Baze had fumed for days about the mark on his shoulder. Not once had Chirrut thought it was funny, and anyone who had was swiftly persuaded otherwise.

“Don’t worry about it,” Baze says, mumbling against Chirrut’s lips. They kiss for a long moment, Chirrut’s fingers re-tangling into Baze’s hair. Baze hums happily, almost a purr; he’s easy, _so easy_ , and Chirrut feels himself growing excited at the thought of spreading his husband open once again.

“ _How_ ,” Baze pants, a note of laughter in his voice, “Are you not _done_?”

“I said _almost_ every way, didn’t I?” Chirrut replies, sweeping Baze’s hair away from his face. He wants to hold Baze down again, work him open, kiss him until his tongue is loose and his words undone. Chirrut can’t quite remember how a blush looks upon his husband’s face, but he can feel it under his fingertips, in the way that Baze tilts his head, shying from the touch. “Will you let me bind you again? Say no, my love, and I will rid myself of these thoughts.”

“You don’t have to _rid_ yourself of anything,” Baze mutters, laying a hand on Chirrut’s hip. He quiets then, a little dazed from their kissing and still dazed from their love, and so Chirrut pulls away. Baze’s heart is one that hates to say _no_ , and when it does, it utters the word so softly that Chirrut has to strain just to hear.

“I’m that good, am I?” Chirrut says, keeping his voice light. He waggles his eyebrows for comic effect, hoping to quell the uneasy Force that swirls around Baze. It touches him so gently despite how he has denied it for years, but those, too, are sad thoughts that Chirrut shouldn’t consider.

Baze snorts. His breath is hot against Chirrut’s face, causing blind eyes to blink. “Don’t flatter yourself. Perhaps you are merely adequate, and I am getting old.”

“Ancient,” Chirrut agrees, earning a swat (“ _Shut up._ ”) on his hip. He grins, curling his toes, and reassures, “But only more beautiful with time.”

“You’re blind,” Baze sighs, an automatic response. Chirrut gasps a hyperbolic affront, clutching his chest as he has a hundred times before, and Baze groans in despair before Chirrut has the chance to say anything.

“I’m _blind_? I never knew! How have I been so oblivious? How have I lived in the darkness for so long? Thank you, beloved, for shedding this light upon me - for sharing your knowledge with this fool! I am now _wise_ and _free_ to go and -”

Baze _thwumps_ him with a pillow. “Go serenade the shower.”

Chirrut laughs and laughs and laughs - and then continues to do so as Baze heaves himself up with a roar, only to tangle knee-deep in the blankets, pillow, and cloth, and then flip them both right off the edge of the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
